GOT/ASOIAF: Ruler Beyond The Ice

"Big business?" Tyrion shivered from the cold, rubbing his short arms as he climbed the stairs quickly. "You mean the wildfire stored below? Sorry, but that's not happening. The only reason the king hasn't reclaimed this building for other uses is that the wildfire stockpiled beneath it is too dangerous. Most of the experts who knew how to handle it properly either died in the war or disappeared, so the few remaining pyromancers have been left here to keep watch… Technically speaking, the little deal we just made was illegal, but Robert doesn't care enough to put a stop to it. But if you're thinking of moving all the wildfire out and transporting it to the Wall for military use, forget it. That's absolutely impossible."

It certainly was.

Aegor suspected that wildfire was likely some volatile oil mixed with white phosphorus or other phosphorus compounds, highly flammable with an extremely low flash point. The longer it sat in storage, the more the oil evaporated, leaving behind a higher concentration of phosphorus residue, making it even more prone to combustion. Without precise safety measures, transporting such a substance over long distances was out of the question.

"Is that so?" Aegor turned to the pyromancer.

"That's correct…" Now that he had been paid ten silver stags, Hallyne looked considerably friendlier. "The wise King Robert has decreed that the wildfire below must be kept under constant guard and that not a single jar may leave the cellar…"

"Not a single jar? So what, we just smuggle them out one at a time instead?" Tyrion quipped sarcastically.

"No, that's not—"

"It doesn't matter," Aegor cut in before Hallyne could flounder further. "I'm not interested in the wildfire already stored here. What I want is the method to produce it. Tell me, are you still making new batches, or are you only selling off the old stock?"

"Impossible!" Hallyne's demeanor changed instantly. His eyes widened, and he stiffened as if insulted. "The process of crafting wildfire is the most closely guarded secret of the Alchemists' Guild. No amount of gold could buy that knowledge!"

No amount of gold? Aegor smirked but let the comment slide. Instead, he shook his head. "When I say I want wildfire to be made, I don't mean you should hand over the formula or reveal the production process. I mean I want you to make it—for me. Do you understand?"

"Serve you?"

"Answer me now. Can I see the production process? Or at least the place where it's made?"

Hallyne hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded. "That can be arranged."

He led them back upstairs, and as soon as they stepped onto the ground floor, the warmth of the air made them exhale in relief. So far, Aegor hadn't seen any other pyromancers. It seemed the Alchemists' Guild had declined significantly, those who remained likely worked in shifts.

When they first arrived, Hallyne had taken them straight to the cellar to "buy" wildfire. Now, retracing their steps, Aegor had his first real chance to examine the guild hall. It was a vast labyrinth built entirely of black stone, its internal structure far more complex than its exterior suggested. Twisting corridors and dimly lit passageways framed by black iron beams led them to a door at the end of yet another hallway. Hallyne unlocked it, revealing a chamber with a small window, finally a room with natural light.

The moment Aegor stepped inside, he knew he was in the right place.

A long row of tables filled the room, cluttered with an assortment of jars, vials, and equipment of varying shapes and sizes. Among them, Aegor immediately identified two distinct apparatuses, one for extraction, the other for distillation.

This was a chemistry lab. Or, at the very least, the prototype of one.

The Alchemists' Guild was not merely a group of fire-obsessed fanatics, it was in essence, an early chemical research institution.

Why, then, had they faded into obscurity, replaced by the maesters of the Citadel? With so much equipment at their disposal, they should have been making chemical discoveries that advanced society, yet all they did was manufacture wildfire. Was this a distortion of human nature or just a tragic loss of curiosity?

"What do you see?" Tyrion asked, noticing Aegor's stunned expression.

"I see the future," Aegor murmured before turning sharply to Hallyne. His gaze was piercing. "Do you know how to use everything in this room?"

"I… mostly. I was trained, after all," Hallyne admitted hesitantly. "But I haven't practiced in years. I'd need time to reacquaint myself with the equipment." He looked around, rubbing his hands nervously. "Ah… we should step out. This room isn't entirely safe."

Aegor nearly choked. "Not safe? I thought the wildfire was stored in the cellar. Is there anywhere in this guild that is safe?"

"Not really…" Hallyne pointed at the ceiling. "There are mechanisms built into it. If an accident occurs—if a fire breaks out—the ceiling will collapse, releasing a large amount of sand from the compartment above to smother the flames. In theory, that should prevent any catastrophe."

"In theory?" Aegor echoed, narrowing his eyes.

"It hasn't been maintained in over a decade," Hallyne admitted sheepishly. "So… I'm not sure if it still works."

Aegor glanced up. Sure enough, the ceiling looked dangerously heavy, as if it might collapse at any moment. That was enough to make him reconsider stepping any further inside. Instead, he backed out quickly.

Before leaving, he turned to Hallyne. "Master Hallyne, remember what I said. When you're free, come find me."

---

Once outside, Tyrion could no longer hold back his curiosity. "What exactly do you want that man for?" he asked. "He's no master pyromancer, probably just a glorified assistant. The wildfire he makes is likely subpar."

"I don't need wildfire. I need him or more precisely, his knowledge of how to use the equipment in that room." Aegor mounted his horse and looked back at the decrepit but still-standing Alchemists' Guild Hall. "Where I come from, there's a substance similar to wildfire, but more stable and far more powerful. It's called gunpowder."

"More stable and more powerful?" Tyrion's eyes narrowed. He wasn't a warrior, but his mind was sharp, and he understood war better than most nobles. It took him only a moment to grasp the implications. "That would change warfare entirely… it could reshape the world."

"Exactly," Aegor said, his expression unreadable.

"Do you know how to make this gunpowder?" Tyrion's voice dropped to a whisper.

"I know it, and I don't," Aegor replied cryptically. "That's why I need someone to help me figure it out." He gave his horse a nudge forward. "By the way, you seemed oddly familiar with the wildfire trade. How come?"

"Oh, that?" Tyrion smirked. "There's a Myrish juggler in Robert's court—Thoros. He's known for fighting with a flaming sword. Turns out, he paints wildfire on the blade before battle. I once bought him a drink and asked him how it worked. That's when I learned he buys the wildfire here, from the Alchemists' Guild."

"So that's the trick," Aegor muttered. He had once thought the flaming swords in the show were a sign of R'hllor's divine power. Turns out, it was just a cheap pyrotechnic trick.

"Let's head back," Aegor said, shifting in the saddle. "Things are about to get busy. Best to enjoy what little rest we have while we still can."

Tyrion chuckled. "For once, I agree. Let's go."

---

Karl Marx once wrote in The Economic Manuscripts:

"Gunpowder, the compass, and printing, these are the three great inventions that heralded the rise of bourgeois society. Gunpowder blew apart the feudal knights, the compass opened the world to markets and colonies, and printing became the weapon of Protestantism, the revival of science, and the most powerful force in shaping the intellectual foundations of a new era."

Now, things were about to get interesting.

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